


Monsieur Du Plessis

by Kardinalka



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, Modern Richelieu, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Armand Richelieu, M/M, Monsieur Du Plessis, Richelieu - Freeform, Slash, The Musketeers - Freeform, Treville - Freeform, modern richelieu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kardinalka/pseuds/Kardinalka
Summary: Modern Richelieu. Another beginning of their special relationship.





	1. The Young Police Psychologist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreyaLor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaLor/gifts).



> Great thanks to FreyaLor for her betareading!

 

 

Commissaire Treville, head of the Paris police force, is often confronted with the International Security Department. He has no quarrel with their regular agents, but from time to time, Armand du Plessis makes an apparition at the general precinct.

 

No one really knows him. What's his rank? Who is he? Who does he work for? All efforts to track down any information about him have failed. He just pops up unexpectedly with a man or a woman in a sharp suit folliwing him and most of the time, it's not a good sign at all.

The worst about this man is the things he knows. He knows a fucking lot, but never speaks much. He merely suggests.

 

The hot-blooded Commissaire doesn't know much about Mr du Plessis, but what he does know, is how crazy that man can drive him. He walks in, doubting Trevulle's slightest competence, and pulls out intel that the Police had missed all along, asking for nothing in return.

The man is constantly mocking him, ignoring questions with this arrogant demeanor, so careless and peaceful it's surnatural. His unbearable silence pushes Jean Treville to insanity. Thet have been crossing each other's path without ever knowing each other for three years, their meetings never longer than a few minutes, though always of very significant consequences.

 

Yet, today, something has changed. A hig-achieving psychologist from Vichy, recently attached to the  General Precinct, had planted this idea in Treville's mind. He has almost some kind of Sherlock Holmes vibe, that man, as he observed and deduced.

On his first day in Paris he got a black eye from detective De la Fère, because the shrink found it clever to give him relationship advice. He read through people in minutes, though, and with one hour for free time, he was able to write ten pages of report.

And this specific ability of young Doctor d'Artagnan, Treville had use for.

***

 

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," yelled Commissaire Treville, turning away from the window to face the intruder.

A middle-aged slender man in dark suit and unfastened knee-lenghted coat stepped into the room, greying hair groomed back, mustache and goatee perfectly trimmed. Americans call that „ sharp-dressed men“.

Dark eyebrowk went up, just like the corners of his mouth.

"Good day, commissaire," said his melodious voice.

 

The Commisaire nodded grumpily. The man dark eyes quickly left him to inspect the other man in the room, a young man casually leaning on the wall near the window.

 

"Our new precinct psychologist, Dr. Louis d'Artagnan," Treville gestured towards the window.

 

Du Plessis turned to the young man and shook the offered hand forcefully. The captain watched the man's angular profile, the pronounced nose, the supercilious smile and hung on to the hope of humbling that man at last.

 

"Louis is very skilled in estimating the nature and hidden features in people," he announced dryly, and he smiled.

 

"Well, that's what they say. „ The young man snickered with a smug face.

 

D'Artagnan squeezed the other hand tighter. He didn't let go, looking straight in the man´s eyes, and surprisignly, he didn't see him flinch. Du Plessis only raised one eyebrow and lifted his chin with self-assurance.

 

 "I have no doubts about those skills of yours," the sharp-suited man replied, not once looking away. „I only hope i'm not interrupting - „

 

" I have been watching you a few times, sir,“ D´Artagnan rudely cut in as he let go of the man's hand. „Aloofness, inaccessibility, patronizing behavior, arrogance... You are smart, proud, education, something you got from your bloodline no doubt. Ancient nobility, right? But isn´t here something more? This distance, this apparent peacefulness. Last week an officer broke a mug right behind you, and you didn't even twitch. Just as you didn´t react the slightest even when the captaine jumped right into you and started talking. You didn´t freak out, because you're used to that kind of thing. You learned to maintain a mask of composure at all times. You use your arrogance to push people at a safe distance, so they don't pay too much attention to you, because they absolutely can't know.... _you're almost deaf.“_

 

The young man grinned, triumphant, but Du Plessis didn't seem to move a bit.

 

"But you are proud.“  D'Artagnan added, leaning sideways on the edge of the Captain's table, crossing his arms in defiance.  „Too proud to consider this a handicap. You're trying hard to compensate for your weakness, so you learned lip-reading. No one has to notice, right? Because if anyone does, they'll be tempted to sympathize, and you couldn't bear anyone to see you're a good man. Your employees must know, of course, but those people are committed to you beyond their duties.“

In the following silence, Armand du Plessis simply stepped forward and laid the folder he brought with him in front of the speechless Commissaire. With that, he rereated back to a safe distance, halfway between the door and the table, but d'Artagnan continued, relentless :

"I would say it was an accident. You weren't born with it. So tell me, your right ear is dead, right? And the left one falters from time to time, haphazardly, when you're tired or pressured...“

 

The sharp man still didn't flicnh, but he knew his tension was showing. He felt the pounding in his temples, his increased blood pressure choking the outside sounds to washed-out  silence. To fight the urge of pressing his palms against his ears, his hands instinctively clenched to fists, his chest painful, his breath out of reach.

 

The young psychologist turned away to speak to Treville.  
Armand couldn't see his lips.

 

He couldn't react, could only stand fast, his eyes quickly searching the Commissaire's face. But the Officer didn't reply, looking  – surprised? Concerned? Perhaps even scared?

Their stares met, Treville's eyes widening.

 

"As I said," du Plessis finally spoke with a voice almost perfectly blank, „I never doubted your abilities, Doctor, because I recommended your transfer to Paris myself."

The psychologist spinned around in shock, unable to speak at last. Du Plessis just smiled sadly.

 

"I wish you a nice day," he simply greeted, and walked out of the office without a glance for the two men.

His footsteps resonated down the hallway and quickly faded away.

 

 

 

The young psychologist broke the smothering silence first.

"Before you start yelling, sir, I must remind you that I acted on your request. This is the way I work, I'm sorry. What I have observed is a body out of balance, that's how I knew what he was hiding. He's very good, by the way. At hiding.“

 

He glanced at the Commissaire as he remained focused on the paper folder on his desk.

"You're dismissed." Treville growled.  "And you'd better keep quiet about this, or I swear you're fired in the minute. „

"I understand, sir. Professional confidentialilty...“

"No, It's my direct ORDER, DAMNIT !" The Commissaire yelled as rushed through the door.


	2. The Bitter Coffee

"Where did he go?" he shouted to the crowded precinct, filled with cops. A few of them turned towards the rear exit. Treville ran faster, downstairs to the ground floor and forward to the street door.   
He flung it open, it was still dark. The skies were overcast, thin rain lingering on.   
He stepped on the wet sidewalk, looked around and spotted a slim figure in a dark coat disappearing around the corner. For a moment, the dull sounds of the street were eclipsed by squeal of brakes and furious honking. Jean rushed towards the frightening sound.

It took him mere seconds to reach the corner of the street, where the last act of a traffic accident scene was unfolding. Unmoving cars honking madly, people watching, and that driver getting out of his brand new Peugeot to yell at a man in a black coat, gesturing furiously.

Du Plessis was visibly calming down, his hands resting on the silver hood of the Peugeot. He stared at the screaming man, feeling warm wet metal under his shaking hands and the rain dripping on his face.  
He knew for sure the world around him was filled with noise, drowned in sounds, but he didn't hear a thing, and it scared him. 

He felt pain in his hip, and by that peculiar copper taste of blood in his mouth he realized he had bit his lip, but the absurdity of the silent scene he had caused hurt him much more than anything else.   
But at some point the driver's angry face changed, and the man's mouth froze, his gaze shifting somewhere above Armand's shoulder. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the sidewalk.   
"Get back in your and get the hell out of here!" Treville yelled at the driver, who clearly did not intend to discuss futher.   
The Commissaire led du Plessis down the street, away from people and cars, stepped into a small alley, stropped dead and stared at the man he had a firm hold of. 

He seemed to be smaller then, slighly lower that Treville, and he bloody looked softer.   
The Officer sighed, his eyes fixed on the man's pale face, watching a trickle of blood staining the thin white lips, and those dark eyes, pupils widened.   
He felt the man shaking. That same man who never showed any kind of emotion all of a sudden seemed a bit more ordinary. 

 

"There's a café, right here," Jean mumbled, pointing at the red door with a 'welcome“sign. "Come on, sit down over there,"   
He pulled at the man's sleeve, with much les force than before. Du Plessis hesitated for a moment, but eventually he yielded and walked through the café door Treville held open for him.   
*

"I'm sorry about what happened," Treville began, hands folded on a small table. 

The man before him smiled, lowered his eyes and curled his fingers around a cup of black coffee.   
"Unlike yours, none of my harsh words have ever been personal, Commissaire"   
He raised his mug to his lips and drank slowly. The policeman waited until their gazes met once more.   
"Perhaps if they had, it would have been for the best. „ The Officer stated. 

How the hell come I only notice by now how intently he's watching my lips. He thought.   
I'm the stupidest cop ever. 

"You're not hearing anything right now are you?“ he asked the man facing him.   
"No.But it'll get better.“ Du Plessis replied quietly, resolutely turning his gaze to the window. 

The message was clear enough. He didn't want to read, to see, to address. Not then, maybe not ever.   
Trevlle understood and kept quiet. Armand's cup was almost empty when his voice was heard again. 

"You know, captain, in my position I can't afford to show weakness," he spoke, unmoving. „Thank you for your help and for the company. I won't detain you any longer, Jussac will be here soon,“ 

He didn't once look anywhere else than in the distance. Treville had nothing to add, and got up.   
He paid up at the bar, and went out into the rain. 

Du Plessis got into his car without a word, just staring straight ahead. When the car stopped at red light, Jussac slowly stretched out his hand in front of his passenger and made a few gestures.   
„Please don't.“ Du Plessis hissed, his eyes fixed into the void. „ I'm fine. „

*

"Commissaire Treville?" 

Treville cut his conversation with De la Fère short to turn to the familiar voice. Before him stood a tall man in a blue suit, one of those often following du Plessis. His name was Jussac, his last name Treville never knew.   
The Commissaire raised his eyebrows.   
"My boss doesn't know that I'm here.“ Jussac whispered as his superior sometimes does.“He doesn't approve of such behavior.“

 

Before the Commissaire could ask with what exactly Du Plessis didn't approve of, he got punched by Jussac right in the face. 

Porthos caught his fall, otherwise Treville would have collapsed to the ground. De La Fére rushed a the attacker, but the Commissaire it quickly grabbed his sleeve and stopped him.   
"This is indeed a very personal business, Commissaire," Jussac spoke quietly for Treville. "Have a nice day."   
The cops stood there in shock.

"What was that all about?" Porthos asked.  
"It´s okay, I deserved it." Treville spat, rather calm.


End file.
